


#35: the man on the motorcycle

by beamkatanachronicles



Category: No More Heroes (Video Games), シルバー事件 | The Silver Case
Genre: 25W spoilers, Gen, travmui vibes if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28086669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamkatanachronicles/pseuds/beamkatanachronicles
Summary: Kill Aoyama and Akama simultaneously...
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: GhM fanfiction





	#35: the man on the motorcycle

**Author's Note:**

> im finally free from zine fic embargo jail!!! here is 1/2 of my ghm zine v2 pieces; you gotta wait for the ~final zine~ to see the cool set of illustrations that come with this, but you can read my words alone in the meantime. this is the 35th out of the 100 endings of 25th ward's blackout-- specifically the one that leads up to travis strikes back and the... sudaverse. yep, we're here now.

In the end, Travis Touchdown will let you live. 

And no one will tell you that: in fact, staring down the barrel of Kuroyanagi’s gun in the middle of an empty construction site, no one’s told you anything at all. You don’t even know Travis’ name. All you know now is the weight of a gun in your palm anchoring you down to earth, a fixed point in the center of a standoff you’re responsible for ending. The paralyzing luxury of a _choice_ , at long last. It’s the first time this will ever happen in your life, perhaps the last: the extension of a single, hundredfold hand of fate, its branches slowly unfurling tendrils before you. The irony is cruel. You are Kamui Uehara, and until now, you’ve followed only your orders. 

Your eyes dart from face to face. Hatoba’s expression is grim in the narrow light. Aoyama watches Akama’s finger twitch on the trigger of his gun. Kuroyanagi’s gaze stays fixed on you alone. You’ve never had to choose, but now all you’ll do is choose. You kill as you’ve been taught, over and over. Kuroyanagi shoots you down, again and again and again. You die here. You escape to an island. In the future, you stage a great revolution. You drift through space as stardust. You’ll live dozens of lives before you meet that man on a motorcycle.

Otherwise, you won’t know the first thing about Travis Touchdown. Blue and Red, delivering you to the next point, don’t exactly leave you with much. Your next life is in Texas, six thousand miles away and over a decade ahead. Alone in your booth, you rest your chin in your palm and gaze dully out the window of some roadside burger joint. The horizon, ringed by cottony-white clouds, stretches out in all directions: a vast blue expanse, held fast by the dust and the dirt of the highway. Your skin crawls. You’ve always preferred darkness and close quarters. It’s the rumble of Travis’ bike, the weight of his presence, that pulls you back down to earth. You feel it the moment he strides through the doors: bloodlust, radiating out of every pore. The man’s a born killer, just like you. It’s inevitable: once this is all over, one of you will kill the other. Then again, you _have_ just met him. You haven’t yet learned how much Travis loves fucking with expectations.

Six thousand miles and a decade into the future, Travis Touchdown slides into your booth. He takes a noisy slurp of the milkshake you’d recommended-- pineapple instead of strawberry, though. Eventually, he agrees to let you lead him to the next point, even if he’s spent the last several minutes insisting you’re a conman. If he’s sensed your true nature, he doesn’t show it-- even ignores it, pushing a tray of fries at you until you accept, gunning for a sip of your milkshake as a “trade”. You don’t know if it’s trust or just willful ignorance, and you can’t decide which you’d prefer. It’s odd. You realize that you can’t remember the last time you ate with someone else. 

But you’re still in the present of the 25th Ward, and even with death before you in all directions, you need to make your choice. Kuroyanagi sneers. Hatoba exhales slowly. Akama and Aoyama have their eyes on you, mouths pulled into knowing grins. They can’t possibly know that things will be different this time, and neither can you. A future in which you might survive-- much less because someone couldn’t bear to take your life-- never crosses your mind. Only the angle of your bullet matters now, a shot aimed square between Aoyama’s eyes. 

You are Kamui Uehara: you’ve had that name a hundred times. Soon, and for the first time, it’ll begin to feel like your own.

You pull the trigger and fly into another space.


End file.
